The Sight

  The wolves wondered now what they were seeing. They could not know that here the Romans’ priests and fortune- tellers had worn wolf skins on their heads, and in the trenches below the temples had kept live wolves, and during the feast of the Lupercal they had made sacrifice and tried to interpret the future, as Diana, the huntress and the goddess of the moon, looked down on them all. So, among the wolves that had once been kept at Alba Mutandis, their own story had grown up, like a memory. A legend of a place called Harja, relayed through every new generation of cubs, living long after the city itself had fallen into disrepair and been lost to the memories of both Man and animal.

  The Romans had needed a more powerful myth for their origins than the brutalities of conquest and power. They wanted to participate in all life, both human and animal. They valued the strength and anger of the wolf, its cunning too, and the way it cared for its own cubs. They saw the wolf not as later peoples that inhabited this land who, putting aside their swords to become farmers and shepherds, had reviled the wolf as a threat to their animals. Nor as some Christians, looking for sin in everything, as a symbol of evil to be judged and put on trial. Instead, they had seen the she- wolf as a great symbol of strength and cunning and fertility.

  Palla blinked and shivered.

  ‘What now?’ she whispered.

  ‘Morgra. We must find her before Larka comes.’

  They walked on and the place seemed to be deserted. The air was still and dead, and Palla growled quietly to herself as they went. They saw no signs of life among those ancient stones until suddenly Huttser stopped. Ahead of them on the ground, among the human’s stones, something was moving. Huttser’s eyes sliced through the night.

  ‘Kraar,’ he whispered, ‘the raven.’

  He was hopping along on the ground and his wing seemed to be broken.

  ‘What if we capture it?’ Palla growled. ‘Use it against

  Morgra. If it’s her eyes we might blind her a little.’

  Huttser had had the very same thought, and he was already hugging the ground, trying to steal up on the bird. It seemed completely unaware of them and, as Huttser and Palla drew closer, they could see that it was on the edge of a wide trench.

  Huttser sprang, but suddenly the tricksy raven opened its wings and fluttered away. Palla had sprung too, and missing the raven, landed at Huttser’s side. But suddenly she realized they were not alone. Before they could turn they heard a furious bellow behind them and their bodies were thrust violently forward.

  They landed in the deep trench, gasping for breath, and the air knocked from their lungs by the fall. They got up, side by side, and around them now the Dragga and Drappa noticed stone tree trunks strewn everywhere. But their attention was suddenly drawn above them. The smell of bear was flooding their nostrils, and it seemed to flow down over the edge of the trench like a river of fear. Palla growled. Above them, a little black shape had appeared. The raven fluttered its wings and its beady black eyes glinted as it clacked with satisfaction. The Night Hunters appeared around it.

  ‘Tricked,’ snarled Huttser.

  But before he could say anything more Huttser sensed Palla trembling furiously and his tail rose. Two more eyes had appeared above them. Large and knowing and glinting yellow in the darkness.

  ‘Morgra,’ whispered Palla, and the strength seemed to go out of her.

  ‘So we meet again, sister,’ smiled Morgra. ‘And this time you are in my power.’

  Larka gazed up at the stars fading in the sky as the night deepened, and the moon climbed higher and higher above the thundering mountains. The pounding in her head had become so furious as they sought out the second entrance to the east that they had decided to rest for a few hours. Around them the air was warm and still. The swelling moon shone down through the trees and its strange power, that far beyond Transylvania tugged at the great oceans and made them move against troubled and untroubled shores, seemed to be calling to the elements themselves.

  Tsarr was beginning to doze in the grass and Kar padded up quietly to Larka.

  ‘Larka,’ he said softly, ‘why don’t you try and get some sleep?’

  ‘No, Kar. I must stay awake and think, for I shall need all my senses about me when it comes. But, Kar, will you stay awake with me for a while?’

  Kar lay down beside Larka and, side by side, their hearts beat together. About them the moonlit air rustled through the trees and flowers, and nearby they heard the drone of a beehive. The place was like some ancient garden, the Garden that mankind dreamt of at the beginning of the world, made by hope, with nurture and care and intelligence, out of the wilderness of the mind. It was so beautiful that Larka’s heart ached.

  ‘Kar,’ the she-wolf whispered sadly, ‘I love life. But sometimes I think this power to touch it all is too terrible for any to bear. I am wounded and I don’t know why. I try to shut it out, with anger, by trying to hate Morgra, but in the end I cannot.’

  Larka turned her head to her dear friend, but she could see that the wolf’s eyes were beginning to droop with weariness.

  ‘Kar,’ she whispered, ‘dear Kar, stay awake.’

  ‘I am awake,’ muttered Kar sleepily, raising his head and shaking himself.

  Larka looked up sadly at the moon and Kar followed her gaze. Kar had no real words to talk of the living force that pulled the earth and the moon together, nor of the current that flows between all things; but in his bones he could sense its strength and in the wolves’ tales of Tor and Fenris, of the moon’s birth, they had tried to make sense of it.

  But Larka could feel that energy too and she knew it as the energy of the Sight. For her that glowing orb above them had a very clear meaning, too, one that made her shiver as she gazed up into the endless night. As she looked up at the moon, she knew that in just one sun’s time that uneven sphere would grow round as a dandelion, as it had so many times since her birth, and that the inevitability of its cycle brought the inevitability of destruction.

  ‘Kar,’ she said quietly, ‘you know I no longer believe in the stories they told us as children. I no longer believe in Tor and Fenris, or gods that look down kindly on wolves. Sometimes I don’t know what to believe in, Kar. Except...’ Larka paused. ‘Except perhaps truth. I believe in that.’

  Larka whimpered and again the story of Sita came to her mind. Now she found it strangely beautiful. She turned tenderly to Kar, but he had fallen fast asleep. Larka did not wake him. She could not bear to tell Kar what was to be and although Kar had fallen into a blissful, unconscious sleep, despite his promise to her, now Larka was just grateful to have him at her side.

  It wasn’t until noon was brightening the sky that Larka led them on and they soon heard the sound of water. Just as the Searchers had told her, a little stream ran down the rock face and next to it Larka saw an opening.

  ‘The tunnel,’ she cried, ‘they told me it leads right through the mountain.’

  As soon as she ducked inside she whimpered with frustration. The narrow cave entrance was almost completely blocked with fallen rubble. Kar and Tsarr began to scrabble at the stones, but Larka ranged angrily back and forth.

  ‘What is Morgra doing?’ she kept growling to herself. Larka padded up to the stream. She closed her eyes and let the memories wash through her. As soon as she looked into the water she saw the swirling vortex and her fur began to bristle. Morgra was looking at her, but this time a voice echoed around her and it was as clear as day.

  ‘So, you have come.’

  ‘Morgra.’

  ‘But what have you come for?’ Morgra growled scornfully. ‘To steal the Vision? You cannot, my child. I am too powerful already. I do not even need to look into the water to see you, and we have mastered the third power, Wolfbane and I. Tonight is the full moon and nothing can stop us now. You are close, but no wolf shall pass my guards a second time, no matter how clever the ambush or how cunningly they sneak about.’

  Larka gasped. Her parents must have reached the entrance already and there had been
fighting. Morgra spoke again. Mockingly.

  ‘When the legend comes to pass I will tame all the Lera. All shall be my slaves.’

  ‘No,’ cried Larka, ‘we are here. The family to conquer the evil. To conquer you.’

  ‘You have survived, it is true,’ Morgra whispered coldly.

  ‘But why didn’t you try to sneak past my guards, too? With your dear parents.’

  Morgra paused.

  ‘You have found the tunnel, Larka. You thought I didn’t know of its existence. It is blocked, my dear, is it not? The earth is ancient and quakes here – time has blocked the entrance. But even if you get through, he is waiting on the other side. Wolfbane.’

  ‘I will find a way.’

  ‘No,’ laughed Morgra, ‘you are too late.’

  ‘Too late?’

  ‘You know what the ancient verse says, Larka. ‘With blood at the altar the Vision shall come’. And it shall be their blood. Your parents’. Then we shall put an end to this family for ever.’

  Larka let out a howl and sprang away.

  ‘Larka, what is it?’ cried Kar. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Kar, we must hurry. Morgra has Huttser and Palla, and tonight she will kill them. Tonight is the full moon.’

  ‘And if we don’t stop her in time,’ snarled Tsarr, ‘none of us will be free.’

  Larka began scrabbling desperately at the stones in front of them.

  ‘But, Tsarr,’ she whispered, ‘the Evil One waits. He waits up ahead.’

  The sun burnt above them as Huttser and Palla paced angrily in the trench. The wolves were panting badly as the heat among the stones was beginning to sing. They had to squint as they looked up at the furious orb and felt its broiling energy burn their eyes, yet there was comfort, too, in the light it brought.

  ‘We never escaped, Huttser,’ growled Palla. ‘Not from the pack boundaries, from the shadow of the Stone Den, from her curse.’

  Huttser growled up at the sun, but as he did so a shadow fell across them. Morgra’s eyes were smiling as she gazed down.

  ‘So, sister, are you prepared to pay for the injustice of what was done to me? For what must come? For the altar is hungry.’

  Palla dropped her eyes sadly.

  ‘Why do you hate me so, Morgra? I never even knew what happened.’

  ‘You never cared to know. Wolves have no justice.’

  ‘And was it out of justice,’ snarled Huttser suddenly, ‘was it out of goodness that you cursed us that night? You killed my friends. You killed my cubs.’

  ‘Is it not strange,’ said Morgra slowly, and her eyes smiled, ‘that you believe in curses more than I?’

  ‘But you—’

  ‘Your own fear and weakness, your own guilt have worked on you all, Huttser,’ snarled Morgra. ‘Your own desperate clinging to life. As Wolfbane worked on the Balkar. That is the meaning of a curse. Nothing more. But the Sight is a true power, and soon I will use it to control all.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us, Morgra?’ pleaded Palla. ‘Why didn’t you show us the truth of what happened to you? We would have understood. We would have given you justice.’

  Morgra began to growl uncomfortably.

  ‘Understood? What understanding does the wolf have? All they know is fear. Fear for their cubs and for themselves. Fear for their worthless lives.’

  ‘We can all understand pain, Morgra,’ said Palla, ‘but can’t you remember how to love?’

  Morgra’s eyes were cloudy and her tail lowered.

  ‘Sister,’ whispered Palla.

  For a second Morgra seemed to be torn. But suddenly she showed her yellowing teeth.

  ‘Love,’ she snarled furiously. ‘Don’t you think I wanted to? All my life I have wanted to be allowed to love something. It is too late for love. And you, Palla, by calling me sister you think you can escape. Because you are trapped and fear to die.’

  ‘That is not true. But I can feel the hate in you, Morgra. And I can see that it hurts you.’

  ‘Enough. Even if I believed you, the time has long since passed when I ached to be understood. You talk of justice, but what justice can there ever be for one such as me, a she-wolf that is barren? Except the justice that I take for myself. I have gone far beyond the ordinary life of the Varg. I have tasted the power of the Sight. And tonight, when the full moon glows above us, I will go even further. The power of the Man Varg will come.’

  A terrible light glowed in Morgra’s eyes, a light that reminded Huttser of that night above the ravine.

  ‘You are evil, Morgra,’ he growled.

  ‘Silence,’ cried Morgra. ‘By what authority do you dare to judge me?’

  ‘You are evil,’ said Huttser once more.

  ‘Fool. You dare talk to me of evil. You who know nothing of the light, or the darkness of the Sight. A foolish Dragga whose only ambition is to rule his pack and to hide amongst his family. You think a thing is evil simply because you are told it is evil. You know only how to live in fear and to obey. Well, tonight you shall know, of the darkness that is everlasting. When I slay you at the altar.’

  ‘No, sister, listen to me. I am to blame. I will be your blood sacrifice. Willingly. Is it not fitting, that you should slay me? That your own bloodline should pay the price?’

  Morgra was looking down closely at Palla.

  ‘You would do this? Without resistance?’

  ‘Yes, if you let Huttser go.’

  ‘No, Palla,’ cried Huttser.

  ‘Morgra, I beg of you. Perhaps somehow it will make amends.

  ‘A look of cold amusement had woken in Morgra’s eyes. Though she had no intention of letting Huttser live, she suddenly nodded.

  ‘Very well, Palla. Watch for me. At twilight.’

  Morgra turned and vanished, and still the baking sun beat down.

  Huttser stood there shaking, but even as he looked down he noticed the stone floor of their prison. He was surprised for a moment, for the stone was cracked and broken and, while the pillars around them seemed so strong and forbidding, he saw that what had done this was nothing more than little weeds and grasses. Tiny shoots, drawn by the sunlight, had managed to reach up from the earth and shatter the human stones.

  Huttser pleaded with Palla, begged her to let him go instead, but as the sun crept down the sky Palla’s thoughts grew calmer and Huttser could see that she was resigned. As the sun began to die, the last vestiges of hope seemed to be dying too. Twilight was thick around them once more when they heard a bellowing above them.

  Then came Morgra’s voice, barking out an order, and suddenly there was a thud behind them. One of the stone logs had been rolled over the edge of the trench as the smell of bear filled the air. It lay against the wall, a bridge to Palla’s fate. Before Huttser could stop her the she-wolf sprang up. As Palla disappeared over the ridge of the trench the great black shape appeared above Huttser. He was knocked backwards, and the plinth crashed to the ground beside him.

  ‘Palla, please.’

  Palla shut her ears to Huttser. Morgra was waiting, ringed by a troop of Night Hunters. They looked like sleep-walkers, for Morgra was controlling their minds completely. But as Palla looked on she gasped in horror. Everywhere she looked there were birds. The scavengers of the air were perched on the statues; crows and hooded ravens and great squatting buzzards. Their excrement was staining the stones.

  ‘So, sister.’

  Morgra seemed to have grown far older. The fur across her face was now a weathered grey, and the scars stood out lividly. Already the full moon was rising. The giant orb had begun to cast its light across the citadel as the turning earth lifted it above the Carpathians. It rose like an omen over the citadel. Morgra turned and led Palla quietly up the slope. But as they approached the stone bridge over the chasm Morgra stopped and turned to her sister.

  ‘You hate me, don’t you, Palla?’

  ‘Hate you?’ said Palla distantly. ‘I... no, Morgra, I don’t hate you.’

  Morgra’s eyes sparked.

/>   ‘After all I have done? Well, I want you to hate me, Palla. I want you to feel the power of hate, feel what I felt for so long.’

  ‘I could never feel that, sister,’ said Palla sadly. ‘I am a she-wolf. I have felt life stirring in my belly.’

  Suddenly a memory came to Palla that gave her hope.

  ‘Which is why,’ she growled, ‘why you shall never become the Man Varg. For the Vision can only be given to one that knows the Drappa’s care.’

  Morgra winced, but she smiled too.

  ‘I know what the legend demands, Palla. Well, then, let me tell you a secret that will help you to hate me.’

  Morgra stepped closer and even as she did she looked cunningly at the Balkar waiting for her command. She began to whisper to Palla. Softly. Words that crept like thieves into Palla’s mind. At first Palla did nothing. Her eyes grew larger and larger as she listened. Then suddenly she lifted her head and let out a howl; so angry and bitter that for a moment the Night Hunters seemed to be startled back into consciousness.

  Larka had managed to break through the rock wall, but high up the tunnel they had entered, banking steeply up the mountain, they found the way blocked once more. Tsarr and Kar were again scrabbling desperately at the rubble, their paws cut and bleeding. Larka was trying to help them, but the passageway was so small that only two wolves could get to the rock face. It was an agony for Larka as she watched Tsarr and Kar work, their fur dripping with sweat as the wolves scooped the scree behind them.

  They were all frantic but something else had come to them as they entered the mountain. A sickening fear. Larka and Tsarr knew what it was. They felt it now as an almost physical thing. Like a wall of darkness. A waiting presence beyond the rock itself.